I am standing
on my tippy toes
in my very own apartment
Heels floating
Arched soles
above the cool, creaking wood
I am standing
on my tippy toes
in my very own apartment
And I don't see you
But I keep hearing
The resentment
Of a spank against smooth skin
I am jumping
Beneath this
Prickling frame
You said tattoos
are open wounds
And require tender care
I am rubbing
The inked out words
Agitating the skin
Hoping to let you in again
A word to the wise:
Don't pick your scabs.
-Party Ghost
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Party Ghost
PoetryNeed a break from the noise? The ultimate survival guide to being socially awkward is here. Read into the mind of the poetry party ghost, a fellow playing the fly-on-the-wall to an assortment of situations in the world. Hear them ramble about all yo...
